


Flung From Heaven

by KitMontana



Series: Heart and Soul Series [2]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 04:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18358733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitMontana/pseuds/KitMontana
Summary: “... heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out.” - Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights





	Flung From Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> I'm archiving these stories without the author's permission because they're too good to lose to the bottomless pit of the internet. If anybody has an issue with this, or if you are the author and want them gone, please leave me a comment and let me know how I can get in touch with you.

She kissed him.  
  
They were sitting side by side on the long couch in her ready room, she with a mug of fragrant coffee wrapped in her hands, he with a padd, discussing crew training and duty rotations and other mundane details that made up shipboard life.  
  
They'd sat like this dozens -- no, hundreds of times -- speaking of the ship and the crew, this and that, so when she purposefully set her mug on the table and leaned over to touch her lips to his, he was stunned.  
  
As far as kisses went, it was almost without passion, an almost impersonal gesture. She had reached forward and gently cradled his cheek with her hand, and then kissed him, her lips dry, closed. It was the kiss sister gave brother. It was foolish, he knew, to think of it as anything but an affectionate gesture, a show of gratitude for all that he had done for her over the last many months since she was taken by the Kazon. Still, of its own volition, his heart skipped and then beat faster, and it was all he could do not to enfold her in his arms and hold her to him. Something stopped him. Something told him that she needed maneuvering room, to be able to withdraw without consequence. He remained motionless, suspended in time, waiting.  
  
The smile she gave him when she leaned back was like sun on his face after a week of storms. He took her hand in his, his eyes searching her face for a clue as to what he should do next.  
  
“Tuvok to Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay. Your presence is requested on the bridge.”  
  
Janeway's tender smile turned wry and she turned slightly away from him, indicating the moment was over. She tapped her comm badge and spoke into the air.  
  
“Acknowledged. We'll be right there.”  
  
Silently, Chakotay cursed the Vulcan. While he tried to accept -- even like -- the security officer, there had been too many times like this, too many innocently interrupted moments, that made him suspect the Vulcan sensed his feelings toward the Captain, and for his own personal reasons wished to thwart them. He knew that Vulcans didn't feel emotions like envy and jealousy. But the timing, the innocent interruptions, were just a little too perfect to be coincidental, at least in Chakotay's mind. Whether it was his own wishful thinking or reality, when they walked out on the bridge to respond to Tuvok's summons, he still felt a connection between himself and the Captain that had never been there before. He clung to it, hoping it wasn't some anomaly that might slip away like smoke in the wind.  
  
All eyes on the bridge were facing the viewscreen, as if a voice were emanating from it, beckoning them all to it. It took Chakotay a few seconds to see what was so mesmerizing. Although it was only a tiny bluish smear on the huge screen, it commanded them all, each set of eyes studying it as if it were a talisman upon which they could wish and obtain their fondest desire.  
  
In truth, there was a possibility it was just that. It was a wormhole -- that mysterious tunnel through space that made travel of hundreds, thousands -- even tens of thousands -- of light-years possible in mere seconds. The temporal physics of it were a mystery to even the greatest scientific minds of the Federation. However, it was generally conceded that they were the result of space compression and contraction after the Big Bang, and it would be only a matter of time before Starfleet's engineers would be able to construct artificial wormholes that would make warp drive obsolete.  
  
In Tom Paris' mind -- Tom Paris, Voyager's pilot extraordinaire -- that would be a sad day, indeed. “What have you got on it, Mr. Kim?” asked Janeway, her own eyes narrowing to study the smudge on the screen.  
  
“It's small, Captain, only about half a kilometer across the opening,” replied Kim, leaning over his console to study the readings. “I - I'm having trouble getting accurate readings. Lt. Torres is re-routing power to our sensors, but we're still not getting much.” There was a brief pause as Kim tapped on his console, trying alternate methods to glean information from the wormhole. He sighed. “Negative, Captain,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “I can still only read that it's relatively stable, and it goes somewhere. I just can't tell where!”  
  
Janeway turned to her security and tactical officer, Tuvok, and in three quick strides, she was beside him, leaning over his console, tapping panels and calling up data on the small eye-level screen.  
  
“A probe, Tuvok? Will it be able to penetrate the magnetic field?”  
  
Tuvok tapped his console in concert with her. “Possibly ... however, it would have to overcome the turbulence within the passage. The energy fluctuations are exceptionally powerful.”  
  
Janeway studied the readings before her, and then straightened abruptly, coming to a decision.  
  
“Let's try it. Mr. Kim, prepare a class one probe for launching. One way or another, we're going to find out what's on the other end of that wormhole.”  
  
“Aye, Captain,” snapped Kim, his voice eager.  
  
The probe sped toward the wormhole as a tiny dot of moving light, disappearing into it maw without a trace.  
  
There was silence on the bridge as the crew waited impatiently for something -- anything -- to be transmitted from the probe.  
  
“What are you reading, Mr. Kim? Are you getting anything from the other side?” Janeway asked finally, pacing slowly in front of her chair, armed crossed. She turned when she heard him mutter a curse under his breath.  
  
“Sorry, Captain,” Kim apologized, slightly embarrassed. “The probe was destroyed. The turbulence and radiation was too much for it. All I could get was that the wormhole does have an exit. Where it comes out is anybody's guess.”  
  
Janeway continued her pacing, looking up occasionally to study the mouth of the wormhole, which was rapidly growing larger as they drew closer.  
  
Paris broke the silence. “I could try to take a shuttle through,” he said. “You could keep a transporter beam lock on me and if things got rough --”  
  
Janeway shook her head. “An admirable proposal, Mr. Paris, but much too dangerous -- even for a skilled pilot like you,” she said, the smallest trace of a smile on her lips. “Let's try another probe. Maybe this one will get through. Maximum shielding on this one, Mr. Tuvok. Launch when ready.”  
  
Again, the probe sped into the wormhole, leaving a slight vapor trail in its wake. It disappeared from view within seconds.  
  
Harry's curse was louder this time, making Tuvok's eyebrow raise. “Nothing, Captain. This one didn't even get a kilometer in before the turbulence ripped it apart,” said the operations officer. Janeway, lost in thought, studying the viewscreen, seemed not to hear. The wormhole, at this magnified setting, filled nearby half the screen by now. The opening regurgitated bits of dust and sparks of energy in such quantities that it looks more like smoke and fire extruding from the mouth of a dragon than a spatial phenomena.  
  
She stood a moment longer, studying it, and then turned to her first officer. “Senior staff in my ready room in fifteen minutes. I want ideas on how to find out what's on the other side -- and how to get through.”  
  
The meeting was dominated by Voyager's operations and engineering officers. Harry Kim, for all his youth and inexperience, was succinct in his briefing. There was too much magnetic interference and other static for communications to travel through the wormhole. Probes -- even shielded probes -- were too fragile to withstand the turbulence. A shuttle was out of the question -- shuttles were even more fragile than probes, no matter how much shielding they rigged up. He gave a sideways glance to the engineering officer, and then yielded the floor to her. B'Elanna Torres, as always, found it impossible to sit still as she spoke. She paced back and forth, three paces one way, a sharp turn, three paces back. Her hands moved nervously, and she spoke as if only addressing herself rather than her captain and the other senior staff. The answer, of course, she said, was to send Voyager through.  
  
With maximum shielding, reflective arrays and more dampening fields that she could jury-rig by re-routing the power from life support and other “non-essentials,” they should be able to make it through without totally destroying the ship. At least, that was the theory.  
  
Janeway rubbed her forehead with flexed fingers as Chakotay and other others peppered the young engineer with questions. What were the odds of them making it? If they found out the wormhole lead to someplace even farther away than where they were now, what were the odds of making it back through to the Delta quadrant? What were her calculations regarding hull stressors and external pressures?  
  
B'Elanna answered each query quickly, almost jerkily, indicating to Janeway that these were all question she had asked herself. Half of Janeway's mind took it in, while she also asked herself other questions. What if she took only a skeleton crew through, leaving the others behind on the nearest Class M planet, putting fewer people at risk, and then coming back for them if they found it was “safe” on the other side? What if they tried it with Neelix's ship, if the Talaxian would allow it? Was it right to pit her ship and her crew against this unknown for the possibility of a shorter route back to the Alpha Quadrant? These questions, she knew, were senseless, a drill she put herself through to see if she had neglected an avenue of consideration when she'd made her decision. They were senseless because she'd made her decision the minute B'Elanna began her pacing and started her briefing with, “The answer, of course, is to take Voyager through ...”  
  
There was no question of leaving part of her crew behind. If they were to make it through, she would need them all, ready for any emergency. The exception, of course, was Kes and Neelix -- as Voyager's “guests,” she couldn't require them to go along, but she already knew what their answer would be. Kes, cool and slightly smiling, would say she felt as much a part of the crew as Tom Paris or Chakotay (was that a twinkle of sarcasm in her eye?) and Neelix would act hurt that she, the Captain, would even suggest such a thing. Of course they were going through with them. The crew needed them! And besides, they wished to see this wondrous region of space known as the Alpha Quadrant, where people of all worlds worked together for the common good and there was water, water everywhere.  
  
Janeway placed her hands on the table, signaling an end to the discussion around her. The room went still. She looked into their faces and realized they knew what she was about to say.  
  
“We're going to take Voyager through,” she said with confidence. “We didn't come this far by being shy.” She gave B'Elanna a quick grin. “Lieutenant, let Commander Chakotay know what you need to make the modifications you want. Mr. Kim, I want you to work with Mr. Tuvok to do a complete analysis of Voyager's vulnerabilities to the turbulence and magnetic interference within the wormhole. If you need to launch more probes, do it, and tell me later.”  
  
She stood and gave them all a confident smile, showing no doubt that soon, they would be home; soon, they would all be with their loved ones again.  
  
“Well, Mr. Paris, it looks like you're going to be able to put those piloting skills of yours to the test.”  
  
And silently, Janeway prayed that the gods were smiling on them and this wormhole would be the doorway home. It wouldn't furnish yet another stinging disappointment.  
  
The next 48 hours were a blur. Janeway -- the entire crew -- knew there was no real need to hurry, but some internal clock, some homing instinct urged them on, carrying them through exhaustion. When Chakotay gave his captain his usual end-of-the-day systems status reports, he noted with some amusement that, despite the flurry of activity through the ship as they readied it to make the trip through the wormhole, energy consumption was down. It appeared that the crew didn't even want to pause to use a few replicator rations to eat.  
  
When she could break away from the myriad of other tasks that kept her on her feet all day, Janeway rushed to engineering, knowing there was little she could to do help, but drawn there nonetheless. Torres dashed from one console to the next, from one crewman to the next, barking orders and making sounds that to Janeway's ears sounded suspiciously like a growl. Harry Kim, bending over what appeared to be a cross between a dismantled sensor array computer interface and the guts of a cat, looked as if he didn't know whether to dump a pot of Neelix's stew over the engineer or hug her for working them all so hard to get home.  
  
It was left to Chakotay to oversee bridge operation as Voyager hung in space before the wormhole, a constant reminder of the possibilities -- good and bad -- the future held. He spent much of his time rescheduling duty rotations to give engineering and operations the personnel they needed to get Voyager ready.  
  
He saw little of Janeway, who seemed to be everywhere at once, talking to her crew and examining the modifications to the power grids. Not seeing her was, he thought, a mixed blessing. He longed to see her, talk to her, but as busy as he was, he didn't have time to consider the impact of Janeway's kiss upon their relationship. Did it mean nothing -- or everything? He wanted time to consider this before he spoke with her again.  
  
Besides, the little time he did have was spent on other thoughts. What if this wormhole took them back to the Alpha Quadrant? What would that mean to him -- or the other Maquis? He'd only talked to Janeway about this in an amorphous manner, shortly after he'd agreed to become her first officer. She'd guaranteed him that she would stand by him and the members of his crew once they got back to the Alpha Quadrant. He'd only nodded, and marveled at her conviction that there was no doubt they would get back. But now, with this real possibility facing them, he wondered what would happen if the wormhole did take them back. Would he be thrown into a penal institution? Would he be pardoned, allowed to go free? Would he be allowed to stay in Starfleet under Captain Janeway?  
  
And would she even want him?  
  
As welcome, as joyful as Janeway's kiss had been, it added an unexpected twist to his thoughts about returning home. Here, in this quadrant, time had frozen for him. Each day that passed, his belief that one day Janeway would grow to love him as he loved her became stronger. But now ... what if they did find their way back? Their universe -- the ship's and its crew's -- would be shattered. Would the possibility of a future with the two of them together be shattered as well?  
  
And what of Janeway's lover, Mark?  
  
His questions seemed to multiply with the passing time, and he vowed to speak to Janeway to try to get some answers before they attempted the wormhole.  
  
His chance came a few hours later, when he'd turned the conn over to Paris and hurried to the galley for a quick bite. The Captain was there, padds spread before her, coffee mug in her hand and a half eaten leola root salad by her elbow. Without asking permission, he sat across her and began offloading food from his tray. She looked up, a bit startled that anyone from her crew would do such a thing without first asking permission, but smiled warmly when she saw it was her first officer.  
  
“I'm glad you're here. I want to talk.”  
  
She pushed the padds away and crossed her arms on the table, leaning over them toward him. She took a breath and began. “This may not work,” she said.  
  
The statement startled him. Janeway rarely voiced her doubts about her actions, once she had made the decision. His eyes narrowed and he looked at her over the rim of his herb tea.  
  
“It will,” he said. “You'll get us through.”  
  
Janeway smiled wryly. “I'll drag us though, if necessary.” She took a sip of coffee. “I keep on thinking of all the things that could go wrong ... “ She shook her head. “I know we'll make it, but just in case ...  
  
She paused, and looked across the room at nothing, her eyes unfocused, lost in her own thoughts for a moment before she came back to him. “If it weren't for you -- and your Maquis -- we never would have made it this far. The fates sent you to me -- “  
  
Chakotay laughed, a note of chagrin in the sound. “Captain, if it weren't for us, you'd still be in the Alpha Quadrant, no doubt spending birthdays with your family and counting your Irish Setter's puppies.”  
  
Janeway laughed with him, shaking her head. “I don't see it that way. If it hadn't been your ship, it would have been another. If it hadn't been yours, I know we would have been destroyed back at the Caretaker's array.”  
  
The smile slipped from Chakotay's lips. “Then I guess we're lucky,” he said, “and I don't think the fates would be so cruel to get us this far only to desert us now. We'll make it through.”  
  
She nodded, and bowed her head slightly, peering into the coffee cup, avoiding his eyes. “I wanted to tell you, if this wormhole does lead back to the Alpha Quadrant, I'll do everything I can for you -- and the other Maquis, of course. I've found the Federation to be compassionate towards those who help members of Starfleet ... “  
  
Chakotay waited, until the lengthening silence make her look up. His eyes locked with hers. “I don't know if I can guarantee that I -- or even most of the Maquis -- won't go back to fighting Cardassians again. You may find yourself advocating for enemies of the Federation.”  
  
Janeway swallowed, and blinked slowly. “So you've made up your mind what you'd do if we get back?”  
  
The silence at the table lengthened.  
  
He shook his head. “I don't know what I'll do. Maybe, I'll go home. Maybe I'll stay in space. Hell, by the time we get back, the Maquis may not exist any more -- the Cardassians may not exist anymore ... “  
  
Janeway nodded. They'd been gone two years. Who knows what had happened back home during that time? Changes, certainly, but how many? How much? A sudden chill went through her, and she stood up abruptly to cover it. Chakotay stood, too, not ready for the conversation to be over, but not sure how to bring up what he really wanted to talk about. Janeway pulled herself up straighter, putting on her official stance.  
  
“Well. Lt. Torres says we'll be ready to go in six hours. To be on the safe side, I'm scheduling our trip for twelve hours from now. I want B'Elanna and you to get some rest. Tired personnel make mistakes,” she said.  
  
“So, you'll resting in your quarters for the next several hours, Captain?” he teased gently.  
  
Janeway chuckled. “Of course. I know good advise when I hear it.”  
  
Sleep, of course, was impossible. She wandered about her quarters aimlessly, touching the things she had brought with her from the Alpha Quadrant, wondering if, they, too, were going to find their way back from which they came. She read her personal logs, reviewing them from most recent back to the days the Caretaker brought them here, pausing to consider how these last two years had changed her. If she recognized the change in herself, what of her loved ones back home? What of her mother and father, and cousins? What of Mark?  
  
In truth, she didn't know how she felt about him any more. She still dreamed of him, still remembered his scent and touch and laughter. But within the last few weeks, sometimes, when she'd wake, she wasn't sure that it was Mark she'd been dreaming of or ... someone else.  
  
She'd known nearly from the first that she was in love with Mark. They'd sat at the Ambassador's dinner party, discussing warp core theory, and she's known before dessert she was going to make love with him before the night was out. The passion, the connection, had been remarkable from the first.  
  
Now, though, she wasn't sure. Did she love him? Or was it because he was ... home?  
  
Not for the first time, she wondered what it would be like to have Chakotay's body pressed against hers on the bed in her quarters, to have that perfect mouth on hers. She shivered, feeling guilty that she was thinking of another man when it might be only a matter of hours before they were back in the Alpha Quadrant, and she would be with Mark. She sighed, and climbed into bed, willing herself to relax. She'd been able to sleep in a Kazon prison cell, despite knowing the next moment might be her last. A few disconcerting thoughts weren't going to keep her awake now.  
  
She ordered lights out, and lay staring out the long narrow porthole into the stars until the computer chimed to tell her it was time to get up. All eyes were turned to her when she stepped on the bridge.  
  
Chakotay was there already, as was the rest of the senior staff. Torres, looking tired but dressed in a fresh uniform, handed Janeway a padd. “We're as ready as we'll ever be, Captain,” she said.  
  
Chakotay handed Janeway another padd. “Decks 12 through 15 and 21 have been secured. The reflectors have been tested and are on line. Mr. Paris has plotted the best course through the wormhole -- as least, his best guess as to what the best route might be ... “ Janeway circled the bridge slowly, pausing at each station, giving Tom a quick squeeze on the shoulder, smiling at Kim, a nod to Tuvok. Then as if there was all the time in the world, she sat in her chair, and studied the padds. They'd done everything they could to prepare the ship for this hazardous trip. Now, she had to prepare herself. She sighed soundlessly. Soon, they would know a different existence than the one they knew now. She only hoped it would be a better one.  
  
“Very well, Commander Chakotay,” she said formally, handing the padds to her first officer, “let's find out what's on the other side of that wormhole. Mr. Paris, take us through, half impulse. And be careful with my ship or I'll have your pips.”  
  
Paris tapped his console. “Aye, ma'am, half impulse. And I suggest we all hold on to something that's battened down tight. This is going to be a bumpy ride.” The viewscreen filled with a swirling miasma of colors, flickering with light and dark as they entered the mouth of the wormhole. Janeway took her pilot's advise and compressed the arms of her command chair about her, hurriedly glancing around to ensure the other bridge crew took Paris's counsel. Then she took a deep breath, and held it. It was barely a vibration at first, detectable through the fingertips she placed on the arm of her chair. Between one heart beat and the next, it grew to a quivering, causing the plastine of her chair and the consoles to squeak slightly as unsealed edges rubbed against each other.  
  
Within five beats of her heart, the ship was shaking as if it were a rat and some giant terrier had hold of it. Her head snapped back and she knew that she'd suffer the effects of whiplash once this was all over. “How much further, Mr. Paris?” she shouted over the screaming of the twisting hull. “Damage report, Tuvok!”  
  
Paris, clinging to his console, tapped his console with one hand. “Sorry, Captain, can't tell yet. Too much -- “  
  
A yelp from the pilot signaled a particularly sharp jolt had dislodged him from his seat, sending him skittering across the deck. Whatever he had anchored himself to proved incapable of withstanding the battering Voyager was taking. “Damage reports coming in, Captain. Auxiliary power in decks 3 through 7 out -- “ the bridge lighting flashed from normal white to red -- “as well as on the bridge,” finished Tuvok. “Warp core is secure. Impulse power on line. Reflectors holding.”  
  
Behind her, Janeway felt a hand grab the back of her chair.  
  
Chakotay, freeing himself from the safety of his own seat, was making his way over to Paris, who, due to the violent rocking of the ship, was unable to regain his station. While Voyager's autopilot was reliable, Janeway's -- and apparently, Chakotay's -- faith in Paris outstripped that of the computer.  
  
Chakotay had barely gotten Paris into his chair, when God grabbed Voyager and wrung it in His hands. They tumbled end over end, unsecured padds, bits of jewelry and styluses flying to the overhead, deadly projectiles that would pierce a cheek or put out an eye should they connect. Cries of pain and fear filled the bridge, along with the computer's klaxons and feminine voice that warned repeatedly of one failed system after another. Over the din, Janeway heard Harry Kim's fear-filled shouts. “Shields down to 54 percent and falling. Life support off-line throughout the ship. Hull breech imminent in decks 7 and 9. Seal fractures in shuttle bay two --”  
  
Janeway tried to shout a word of encouragement to the young officer, knowing there was nothing she or anyone could do, but to assure him that she was there, in command, and they would be all right, when something hit her chest so hard that it drove the breath from her. It took two beats of her heart to realize it was her first officer, somersaulting helplessly as the ship tumbled its way through the wormhole. She wrapped her arms around his chest, under his arms, locking them together and praying that she had the strength to hold him. His face was but inches from hers, weirdly lighted by the red glow of the emergency illumination, his eyes shut in pain, but then they snapping open to look directly into hers.  
  
Oddly, her heart leaped in her chest.  
  
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Voyager righted itself, bucked restlessly, and then was still, the physics of inertia taking them forward out of the wormhole and into space on the other side.  
  
“Cut off that damn computer,” snapped Janeway to no one in particular, the repeated warnings driving her to distraction. She loosened her grip around her first officer and unfastened the arms of her chair from across her lap to allow her to ease her first officer to the floor. Even in the red glow of the emergency lighting, she could see he was pale, and in pain. He gripped his right shoulder with his left hand.  
  


* * *

  
  
“Shoulder,” he grunted. “Broken. Leg, too, I think ...”  
  
She nodded, touched his face, and then turned to help her ship. “Tom if you're able, see if you can help Harry get ship's communication on line. Tuvok, find out what systems *are* working, and see if we can re-route power to life support. I'm -- “  
  
“Ship's internal communication up, Captain,” interrupted Kim from a panel under his console. “Reports are coming in most everywhere on the ship. A lot of damage, hull breach on deck -- “  
  
“Get a damage control team down there now to seal it off,” snapped Janeway. She tapped her comm badge. “Stellar cartography, are you operational?”  
  
There was static over the air, and then the cool voice of Ensign de Wynne responded. Despite it all, Janeway almost smiled. After tumbling through the wormhole, probably being battered within an inch of her life, the youngster's response was cool and steady. She was quite an actor.  
  
“Stellar cartography here, Captain. I'm working on figuring out where we are now, but I think ...,” there was a two second pause, and then the ensign replied, her voice tinged with excitement this time. “Captain, the stars -- they're in the right place ... “  
  
Janeway froze, hoping she understood what de Wynne meant. “In the right place?”  
  
She heard de Wynne's laughter, full of tears. “Yes, Captain. We -- we're in the Alpha Quadrant. On the edge, about a hundred light years from Nydra.”  
  
Janeway felt her throat tighten with her own tears. They were near Nydra, within Federation space. In three weeks, they could be back at Earth. “Very well, Ensign. Report to engineering to see if you can help Lt. Torres. Out.” Janeway leaned over her first officer, whose eyes were closed against the pain.  
  
“Tuvok, are transporters up yet? Can we transport Commander Chakotay to sick bay?”  
  
Tuvok didn't even bother to turn from his console. “Negative, Captain. As it is, Sickbay is without power. The Emergency Medical Hologram is non-operational. Kes communicated that she is performing triage functions only and has requested assistance.”  
  
Janeway cursed silently. Wasn't anything working?  
  
“Are any of the turbolifts working?” she asked.  
  
Tuvok tapped his console. “Lifts 5 and 3 are operational. Lift 8 is operational between decks -- “  
  
Janeway didn't wait for him to finish. The lift from the bridge to engineering was working. “Tuvok, you have the conn. I'm going to engineering. Tom -- take care of the Commander. I ... need him on his feet as soon as possible. Harry, I want external communication up asap.”  
  
The turbolift doors swished shut in her face.  
  
Engineering was something out of Dante's inferno. Emergency lighting sent an other-worldly red glow throughout the space, and the warp core, while shut down, vented gases with a hissing sound. Janeway found her engineering officer on her back halfway under a console, spark showering down in her face.  
  
“B'Elanna, report!”  
  
The engineer never paused. “Captain, I can report to you or tie down this fractured conduit before it blows ...”  
  
Janeway turned away to a nearby console and began a database search of damaged systems. Twelve items were listed under “imminent danger to ship.” She grabbed Ensign de Wynne, who was rushing past with a tool belt in her hand. “Take that where ever you're taking it, and then you're with me. We're going to seal down the fractures on deck 14 ... “  
  
Eight hours later, arms shaking with exhaustion, face covered with soot, Janeway felt another body slide into the Jeffries tube between her and Ensign de Wynne. “Can I give you a hand, Captain?” said Chakotay.  
  
Janeway glanced at him, never pausing. “Shouldn't you be in sickbay, Commander?”  
  
Chakotay put a hand on the ensign's shoulder, taking the plasma sealer from her hand. “It takes more than a broken shoulder and leg to keep me down.”  
  
Janeway winced, remembering how painful her injuries inflicted by the Kazon had been. “Well, you've come at the right time. We've finished up here. There's another fissure on deck 12 --”  
  
“B'Elanna's on it.”  
  
Janeway nodded, and tapped her comm badge. “Janeway to bridge. How's external communication? Is it going to be up anytime soon?” She let a note of impatience creep into her voice.  
  
Harry's voice came back, apologetic and rushed. “Give me twenty more minutes, Captain. The communication array was shirred off, we had to reconfigure a new one ... “  
  
Janeway felt a flash of guilt. Reconfiguring a comm array was normally a three day job, not eight hours. The ensign must have cut a few corners, and them some.  
  
“Very well, Mr. Kim. The Commander and I are on our way back to the bridge.”  
  
Janeway handed de Wynne her tool belt and began climbing out the tube. “Thanks for your help, Ensign. I think Lt. Torres may continue to need your assistance.”  
  
The Ensign nodded silently and then gave Chakotay a quick glance. The smile he gave her made her blush to the roots of her hair. Janeway climbed out, leaving them for a moment. “A good officer,” Chakotay said, as he joined his Captain. Janeway gave him the hint of a smile. “Very good. Maybe we need to transfer her out of stellar cartography and up to the bridge -- “ Janeway caught herself. According to Ensign de Wynne, they were back in the Alpha Quadrant. For all she knew, in a few days, Ensign de Wynne might be transferred off the ship.  
  
For all they knew, they all might be transferred ...  
  
“Bridge to Captain. I've got external communications up.” A slight shiver went through Janeway. For the first time in more than two years, she was going to be able to communicate with Starfleet -- and home.  
  
Mark ...  
  
“I'll be right there, Mr. Kim.”  
  
Janeway started toward the bridge, but then paused and came back to her first officer. “Well, Chakotay? Are you ready to meet Starfleet head on?” she asked, her eyes full of sympathy, her lips quirked in a small smile.  
  
Chakotay gave her a wry smile. “No.” He sighed deeply. “Yes. I'm ready.” His smile broadened. “It's been two years. Maybe Admiral Necheyev will no longer be head of Starfleet Security and they won't want a piece of me anymore.”  
  
Janeway eyes searched his face, then the two fell in step together and they walked, shoulder to shoulder, to the bridge.  
  
The bridge was crowded with repair crews -- or rather, with crew who found an excuse to repair something on the bridge. Janeway didn't have the heart to order them off. The tension was palpable. She cleared her throat.  
  
“Mr. Kim, hail Starfleet via subspace.”  
  
The seconds ticked by until it stretched to almost a minute. Janeway turned to Kim.  
  
“I've hailed them, Captain. It could be the array or -- “ A figure in a Starfleet uniform suddenly appeared on the viewscreen. In the background was the familiar Starfleet seal. Janeway's heart flipped.  
  
“This is Lt. Commander Trey Horth at Starfleet Headquarters -- say again, what ship are you?”  
  
Janeway smiled broadly. “Commander, I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the USS Voyager. We've been gone for the last --”  
  
“Voyager! I'll say you've been gone! We wrote you off more than eighteen months ago! Where have you been? Wait one -- I'll patch you through to Admiral Necheyev ... “ The Commander's face disappeared to be replaced with the familiar blue-and-white Federation seal. Janeway closed her eyes a moment, trying to still the pounding of her heart.  
  
Then Admiral Necheyev -- a Necheyev with strawberry blonde hair now rather than cool blonde, but nevertheless, the same woman -- was there, standing ramrod straight behind her desk, flanked my two aides. “Kathryn! Thank the gods, you're back with us! We though you were another casualty of the Maquis! Welcome home!”  
  
Janeway felt tears sting her eyes.  
  
“I think the phrase, 'it's good to be home' is an understatement, Admiral. The last couple of years have been a ... challenge. We've been in the Delta Quadrant and have --”  
  
The Admiral's eyes widened in surprise. “The Delta Quadrant! However did you get there?”  
  
Before she could answer, one of Necheyev's aides leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Janeway waited politely until he finished, but shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other when she saw the Admiral glance from her face to Chakotay's and B'Elanna's. Necheyev's eyes snapped back to Janeway. “We'll have plenty of time talk about this later, Captain. Needless to say we'll plan quite a welcome celebration for your arrival. We'll be sending a ship out to meet you and escort you back.” Necheyev leaned forward, scanning the bridge with her eyes. “I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you all, and how delighted I am that you've come home.”  
  
Janeway could feel her crew stir behind her. Admiral Necheyev's welcome and warm words made it all sink in. After more than two years of wandering space like nomads, they were finally coming home -- home to family and friends, and to a future.  
  
Necheyev leaned back. “Now, Captain, we have a few things to discuss in private. Please patch this through to a secure comm link.” Janeway nodded briefly and gave Kim a quick glance. He nodded and patched the communication into her ready room.  
  
Janeway sat at her console in front of the viewscreen not without a little apprehension. She knew the Admiral would have some tough questions for her, but was hoping they would be put off for a few hours, when her ship was in better condition; when she was in better condition. She tapped the key that activated her viewscreen.  
  
Admiral Necheyev's face wasn't so benevolent now.  
  
“Captain Janeway, seeing those Maquis on your bridge is a desecration to Starfleet. They are criminals. Can you explain to me why they are doing there and not the brig?”  
  
Janeway flattened her hands on the console in front of her, trying to cool her anger. “Admiral, if it wasn't for those - those - criminals, this ship and all on it would be long dead. I could not run this ship without them. I thank the gods everyday they are on Voyager -- “  
  
Necheyev cut her off angrily. “You seem to forget that if it weren't for them, you never would have gone into the Badlands and been lost. You seem to forget that they are an enemy of the Federation.” She paused briefly, she nostrils flaring slightly. “It sickens me to see them in Starfleet uniforms.”  
  
Janeway softened her approaching, knowing that a straight on attack wouldn't work with the Admiral.  
  
“Admiral. I hope that you'll consider that the 24 former Maquis who serve under my command have performed as well as any Starfleet personnel and I am proud to call them members of my crew. They -- “  
  
“Kathryn, in the last two years, the Maquis have been responsible for more than two hundred and fifty Starfleet deaths. I won't tell the mothers and sons of those fine people that we have Maquis serving on a Starfleet ship, serving next to Starfleet officers. I want them out of uniform and in your brig. All of them. Now.”  
  
Two hundred and fifty Starfleet deaths! Janeway's stomach clenched, her heart felt as if somebody was squeezing it. What had happened in the last two years to escalate the conflict to this point? Janeway inclined her head slightly in acquiescence, knowing this wasn't the time to fight this battle with the Admiral. “Aye, ma'am.”  
  
Necheyev leaned forward to cut communication, but paused briefly. “And Kathryn, have that Paris boy call his father, will you? Jake hasn't been the same since Voyager was lost. Maybe this will cheer him up.”  
  
Janeway gave her a brief nod.  
  
“Good. I'll be in touch with a ship rendezvous time for you. And Kathryn -- we're happy you're back. You've been missed. Necheyev out.” Janeway sat back in her chair, heart pounding. This wasn't possible. Strip the Maquis from their uniforms? Put them in the brig? Everything she'd told Necheyev was true -- they had save the ship many times over. They had saved her life more times than she cared to think about.  
  
She walked to the replicator and ordered a double espresso. No use saving rations now; in a few days they'd have all the power they'd ever want. She sipped the hot drink, not realizing how exhausted she was until the caffeine surged through her system. She knew the crew was anxious to hear what Necheyev had wanted to speak to her about. She'd think of something to satisfy their curiously. But now ... now she had to think about what to do about the Maquis.  
  
Her mind drifted back to two days ago, when she had leaned over and touched her first officer's cheek, and then touched her lips to his. It was a chaste kiss, but it still held such keen memories that when she closed her eyes she could feel the warmth of his lips, smell the warm male scent of him. She still wasn't sure what possessed her to do it. At that moment, it was impossible to resist, the memories of their weeks together on that small no-name planet, and then the less pleasant memories of what he had done to help her come back from Cullah's brutality flooding her with gratitude.  
  
That was it. She was grateful. She owed everything to him. He had as much as told her that he lived to serve her, hadn't he? He -- and all the Maquis -- had repaid whatever debt they owed the Federation and Starfleet a hundred times over. And she was enormously grateful. Sighing, she stirred in her chair, knowing she should back to the bridge. The warp engines were still off line and there were thousands of other repairs to be made. But for the first time in two years, they didn't seem urgent. They were safe in the Alpha Quadrant, with no Vidiians or Kazon ready to attack. And she was home.  
  
She entered the codes, indelible in her memory, to access Mark's comm link.  
  
Again, there was a wait of almost a minute as the link established itself over subspace. And then, there was Mark's beloved face, thinner and more lined that in her memory, his hair grayer. Impulsively, she reached out to touch the screen, touch his cheek. “Mark --.”  
  
“Hi. You have reached the residence of Mark MacKenzie. I'm away right now but if you leave your name and comm code I'll get back with you as soon as I return ... “  
  
She stared into Mark's face, patiently waiting for her to record. She disconnected without leaving message. She didn't want Mark's first communication with her in two years to be a recording.  
  
She sighed and stood. There was no putting it off now. She brushed at her uniform with sooty hands, her efforts having no effect to improve her appearance, and with swift strides, walked out onto the bridge. She gave her crew a brilliant smile.  
  
“We're home. The Admiral is sending a ship out to meet us as soon as it can be arranged. But we still have a lot of repairs to do. B'Elanna, are we going to have warp engines on line any time soon? Harry, when will full communication be up? I know we have a few people who want to phone home.”  
  
There was silence, and then everyone was talking at once, the joy of what she'd said sinking in. Before she knew it, the bridge was in an uproar, with people laughing and crying, and hugging each other. In Janeway's twenty four years in Starfleet, she'd only seen the like of it once: when she'd graduated from the Academy. She turned away, her own eyes blurring with tears.  
  
That night, they held a welcome home party for themselves at Sandrine's. Neelix and Tom Paris hosted it, and with replicator restrictions off, the bar nearly groaned with the weight of food and drink.  
  
The demonstration on her bridge was nothing compared to the party. It started at 1900, scheduled so that even those on watch would have a chance to come to at least a couple hours of the celebration. Some came in the black-and-red, -blue or -gold of their uniforms, but most came in mufti -- wild, multicolored and unprofessional.  
  
Janeway spent an hour or so at the party, leaning up against the bar and taking pleasure from the riotous display. Every few minutes, one of the holographic characters Paris had programs as waitpeople came over to her with a drink, offered by one of her crew. Each time she nodded graciously, but left it on the bar, unable to relax, unable to get caught up in the lighthearted nature of the gathering.  
  
Dispersed throughout the room were the Maquis crew, unidentifiable from the Starfleet members. They drank and laughed, told stories and made wild plans about what they would do when then got back to their homes and families.  
  
Twice, during the day she'd tried to speak to Chakotay about  
  
Necheyev's order to put the Maquis in the brig. Once, she'd even got as far as asking him into her ready room, had gotten him a cup of the tea her often drank while she sipped her coffee. But she hadn't been able to go through with it. He sat next to her, on the couch as he had hundreds of times before -- as he had when she'd be compelled to cup his cheek with her palm and kiss him -- and she found telling him was impossible. She, who had poured her heart out to him daily for weeks as she told him about Cullah and Seska and all that had happened to her. She found it impossible to tell him that all that he had done for this ship, for this crew, was to count for nothing and he was to be stripped of his uniform and tossed in the brig.  
  
For the first time, Janeway knew what it was to be a coward.  
  
It was more than a day later that she finally spoke to Mark, a day she filled with administrative paperwork that seemed inconsequential in the Delta Quadrant but, uncompleted, would damn her to her superiors here in the Alpha Quadrant.  
  
She'd tried calling him every three hours, setting the computer to wake her in the night. Each time, she'd gotten the recording. Each time, she listened to the entire message, studying his face, noting the small changes two years had wrought. The crow's feet at the corners of his eyes were deeper. The beard was heavier, the hairline a little higher -- or was that just her memory playing tricks on her?  
  
On her eighth try, the pattern broke. Instead of the recording immediately answering, it chimed four times, and then Mark answered. She'd rehearsed what she would say to him a dozen times, practiced the smile, the witty but warm remark that would send him into tearful laughter. But in the end, all she could say was his name.  
  
“Mark.”  
  
“Kathryn! I've been trying to get through for hours! It's all over the news -- I was on Vulcan and couldn't get a comm link and thought you might be calling me here so I caught the first shuttle back. I -- oh gods, Kathryn!” His face contracted, crumpled, his hand over his eyes, his voice breaking.  
  
She had so much she wanted to say to him, to tell him, but found she couldn't say a word. She reached out with both hands, palms against the screen, tears coursing silently down her face. Finally, it was Mark who broke the silence.  
  
“Thank god you're back. Thank god you're safe. They held a memorial service for you all -- did you know that? -- more than a year and a half ago. But something told me it was wrong, you weren't dead. I couldn't let go of you, I knew you'd come back to me. Where have you been?”  
  
She laughed, eyes still bright with tears. “We've been trying to get back for two years. We've been in the Delta Quadrant and -- it's a long story.” She swallowed, laughing again, but this time with an edge to it. “I guess I look pretty good for a dead woman.”  
  
Mark smiled tenderly. “You look beautiful. And I want to hear everything. How did you get to the Delta Quadrant? Don't tell me it was that Q character again! How are Fitzgerald and Delavan and Tuvok?” And so she began to talk, to tell him of Caretakers and Vidiians and Kazon, and of the too many memorial services she'd been forced to hold. When she told him of inviting the Maquis to join her crew, he scowled, but didn't speak, so she went on to tell of finding the wormhole and not knowing where it lead, but wanting to come home so badly that they took the gamble.  
  
Some things, though, she didn't tell him. Part of herself she kept back, hidden, too raw to expose over the light years that separated them. She didn't tell him about her three weeks with the Kazon and of Cullah's barbarity. Although she was healing, she didn't want to share the memories of that harrowing experience -- at least, not yet.  
  
And she didn't tell him about the virus she contracted and the months she'd spent on that no-name planet with Chakotay. While she hadn't so much as kissed him -- then -- something held her back from telling Mark about it.  
  
Finally, she couldn't talk any longer, and she leaned back against the couch, simply looking at his beautiful face, one emotion after another flickering across it like firelight. She sighed, ready to let him have his turn at catching up.  
  
“So what were you doing on Vulcan?” she asked. “Don't tell me they're going into the starship building business.”  
  
It was as if the firelight flickered again, and sadness filled his face. “I went for T'Pel's *golon*. It doesn't seem like a year since the accident but --”  
  
Janeway shot forward. “What did you say? T'Pel's *golon*?” Mark nodded.  
  
“Yes, the one year anniversary of her death was two days ago. I was flattered her family invited me to attend -- “ He stopped abruptly, studying her face. “You didn't know, did you?” Janeway shook her head slowly.  
  
Tuvok's wife dead. Fresh tears stung her eyes.  
  
Reluctantly, Mark continued. “It was a freak accident. They were on their way to visit the memorial Starfleet had dedicated to Voyager. The shuttle they were on collided with another. T'Pel and the children -- everyone on board both -- were killed instantly.”  
  
The tears spilled over then, and she pressed a palm against her eyes. Somehow, she had expected only joyous things for their return. She looked up and turned her tear stained face to Mark.  
  
“I have to go to him.”  
  
“Of course. I'll be here. Call me. Night or day. I'm not going anywhere. I love you, Kathryn.”  
  
Janeway smiled at him through her tears. “I love you, Mark,” she said automatically.  
  
“We'll be together soon. Three weeks, max.” She kissed her fingertips and touched the screen.  
  
“Janeway out.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Damn you, Kathryn Janeway, thought Paris.  
  
She'd cornered him at Sandrine's, cajoling, needling, bullying him for almost an hour until finally, reluctantly, he'd given in.  
  
So now he sat in front of the viewscreen of his computer in his quarters, tapping in the comm codes to his father's home, only to terminate the connection before it had gone through.  
  
Three times, he'd tried, and three times he'd stopped, unable to steel himself to the task of seeing his father's face on the screen, of hearing his father's voice.  
  
Damn you, Kathryn Janeway, he thought for the second time, why are you making me do this?  
  
It was impossible to turn her down, and she knew it.  
  
He looked down at his hands, opening and closing them, noticing the salty perspiration that had accumulated in the creases. Just the thought of talking to his father was making him sweat. All that time in the Delta Quadrant, when he'd thought almost every night of getting home, he hadn't thought what it would be like to talk to his father again. What was there to say, after all? “Son, you may have done your duty in the Delta Quadrant, but back here you're still a lying, lazy, incompetent piece of trash.”  
  
He got up and went to the replicator.  
  
“Bourbon, Kentucky, 10 year old, neat.”  
  
Replicator restrictions were off for the next 24 hours. For all her straight-as-an-arrow, by-the-book leadership, Janeway was good about some things, like this.  
  
What the hell. A quick jolt, and maybe it wouldn't hurt so much when his father reamed him a new asshole. Again.  
  
He gulped it down, head snapping back to get every drop. It burned, all the way down his throat, and warmed his stomach. Forget Janeway. He was going to do this because it was time to tell the old fart a thing or two.  
  
He tapped in the code quickly, and waited impatiently for the comm link to connect. It chimed only twice before his father's face was on the viewscreen.  
  
A shock went through Tom. How had his father gotten so old?  
  
*When* had he gotten so old? His hair was thin and gray, and the lines on his face had evolved into deep grooves. The shoulders, always so wide and straight, drooped now, as if the burdens he carried were too much. In his mind, Tom always imagined him in uniform, the gold trim shining, but tonight he wore a maroon bathrobe, frayed and discolored at the collar. “Dad,” said Paris, warily.  
  
The sob that came from the old man's throat shook Paris. He'd been so sure that he was going to communicate with his father only to be belittled and scorned.  
  
“Dad, what's wrong? Is it mother?”  
  
The old man shook his head. “Tom, Tom. You were dead, and then Necheyev called yesterday to say you were alive ... I never told you, Tom. You left and I never told you that I was wrong. I should have stood by you. You needed me to be your father and I couldn't see beyond my uniform ... “  
  
Tom's tears burned his eyes and spilled out onto his clenched hands.  
  
“I made a terrible mistake, the worse of my life, son. Come home. Come home, please.”  
  
Tom let the tears flow down his cheeks without bothering to brush them away. “Yes. Yes, I'm coming home, dad. It'll just be a few weeks now ... “

* * *

 

  
Janeway stood at the door of Tuvok's quarters, her anxiety rising with each second. Three times she'd touched the door chime. After her second attempt, she'd asked the computer Tuvok's whereabouts, and been told without hesitation the security officer was in his quarters. So why didn't he answer the door?  
  
Her concern and anxiety ultimately outweighed her respect for Tuvok's privacy and she had the computer override the security lock. She opened the door. It was dark, except for a small flickering light at the far end of the room. Tuvok sat on the floor, his legs crossed in an impossible configuration, hands pressed against his chest. His eyes were open, but they were unseeing, glazed.  
  
The h'vok trance, thought Janeway.  
  
She'd read about it, and talked briefly to Tuvok about it, but she'd never seen a Vulcan in this pose - probably because it was so rare, and so personal. The h'vok was used by Vulcans as a sort of “final resort,” when their emotional imbalance became untenable. Janeway's chest contracted at the thought of what the Vulcan was going through.  
  
Probably, what Tuvok would have wanted her to do was leave, but she couldn't. She couldn't leave him when he was in such pain. She eased down next to him and sat, leaning against the side of the bed, forehead on her arm.  
  
Tuvok had been married to T'Pel longer than Janeway had been alive; indeed, Tuvok's oldest child was older than Janeway.  
  
And now his family was gone.  
  
It was more than an hour later, when the small candle's flame had extinguished itself in its own wax and the two of them were in darkness except for the wane light of the stars, that Tuvok took a deep breath and opened his eyes.  
  
“Tuvok,” she said, in whispered tones, not wanting to startle her friend.  
  
“Captain. You have come to offer your condolences?” Tuvok spoke in normal tones, without inflection.  
  
Janeway nodded, the pain in her chest making it difficult to talk. “Mark told me. I came as soon as I heard.”  
  
Tuvok nodded. “It is ironic, is it not, that I have come home only to find they have left this world.” He said it so calmly, so matter-of-fact.  
  
“Yes,” she said. “Ironic.” And unfair, devastating, shattering, wrenching. So many words, but in the end, only words.  
  
Janeway stood and went to the replicator. “Tea, I think, for both of us. I'll stay with you a while.”  
  
It wasn't a request. Tuvok, she knew, wouldn't ask, and she would never ask him if he wished it. It is something she knew he needed, learned over the many years of their friendship.  
  
“Yes, tea. And then I think I would like to tell you about my wife and my children.”  
  
Janeway's tear made a tiny splash in the filled cup she held clenched between her hands.  
  
“I would be honored,” she said.  
  


* * *

  
Janeway was in her ready room, studying the reports on the progress the repair crews had made on her ship, when Admiral Necheyev contacted her. Kim had patched it through immediately, as if he wanted to spend as little time as possible in link with the imperious woman.  
  
At least, thought Janeway as she turned to her viewscreen, the Admiral was smiling. The question was, how long would she remain so cheerful?  
  
“Kathryn! Good to see you again. It's all over the Mesh about your return from the Delta Quadrant. You'll have quite a crowd when you arrive here. Everybody from the director of the Vulcan Science Academy to the Cardassian intermediary wants a piece of your time. We'll have to put you on the speaking circuit for the first six months you're back. You wouldn't mind that, would you? I suspect you could use a little vacation.”  
  
Janeway gave a non-committal nod, thinking there were few things she would like less.  
  
The Admiral leaned back in her chair, getting to the real reason for her communication.  
  
“Melrose will be rendezvousing with you in 48 hours. She'll be your escort ship in. She's only been out a few months, so she also has a lot of supplies you might like. I've authorized Captain Shelby to transfer whatever you ask for. I think two years without access to non-replicatible stores is long enough.”  
  
The Admiral paused, frowning. “Melrose will also take your Maquis prisoners aboard - they have more brig space. I don't want those Maquis on board when you dock at Earth. It'll tarnish the effect, don't you think so?”  
  
Janeway gritted her teeth. Tarnish the effect!  
  
“With all due respect, Admiral, I would prefer to have my crew intact when I arrive back home.”  
  
Necheyev leaned forward. “What do you mean, 'intact'? You have followed my orders and placed them in the brig, haven't you?”  
  
Janeway was silent, knowing she was on thin ice.  
  
Necheyev blinked rapidly, her face diffused with anger.  
  
“Captain Janeway, let me make this clear. I want those Maquis confined. Immediately. Or you shall be relieved of command.” The Admiral sighed in frustration. “If it were any other captain in Starfleet but you who did this, that disobeyed my orders, I'd relieve them immediately. Consider yourself lucky.”  
  
Necheyev paused, her eyes searching Janeway's stony face. When she spoke, her voice was kinder, less acerbic. “I know you've had a rough time of it, Kathryn, out there in the Delta Quadrant all by yourself. But you're home now. You've got Starfleet and the Federation at your back. You don't have to make do with traitors and terrorists as crew.” A small smile graced the Admiral's lips. “I suspect you'll have Starfleet officers lining up to sign on with you - the captain who was tossed to the Delta Quadrant and brought her ship back whole. You're quite a hero, you know.”  
  
Janeway sat without speaking, knowing she was nothing of the kind, knowing that it was only the sheer luck that brought her an incomparable crew that got her back home. Still, she would have spoken if she thought she could say something to change the Admiral's mind. Finally, the Admiral cleared her throat, and continued.  
  
“It's clear, then, about the Maquis?”  
  
Janeway nodded. “Yes, ma'am. It's clear.”  
  
“Well. Then. I'll have my aide call you tomorrow about setting up the welcoming ceremonies and the like.”  
  
“Yes ma'am.”  
  
“Necheyev out.”  
  


* * *

  
She stood outside the door to his quarters a long time before she finally touched the chime. She'd been to his quarters only twice before, and both times it had been to visit him when he'd been recovering from injury. Propriety and Starfleet tradition deemed it inappropriate for her to be visiting her first officer's quarters at any time; to visit him in the middle of the night was a definite breech of protocol.  
  
It was nearly three in the morning, the quietest hour of the ship, with the midwatch well set and even the earliest of risers still dreaming of home and family. It took him more than a minute to answer the chime, to open the door.  
  
He wasn't as surprised to see her as she thought he would be. Without a word, he got her a mug of steaming coffee from his replicator, and settled down opposite her on one of the low brown leather chairs.  
  
“You've come to talk,” he said.  
  
She took a sip of the brew, fragrant and bitter with chicory. Bitter. It suited the moment.  
  
“I've talked with Admiral Necheyev about the Maquis,” she said, struggling to keep her voice level, normal.  
  
He knew by looking at her, she wasn't bringing good news.  
  
“We're all to be tried then?”  
  
She put the mug down on the low wood table and began to paced the room, ignoring the steaming coffee, almost ignoring her first officer It was as if she were speaking to herself.  
  
“Things have changed, Chakotay. The conflict between the Maquis and Starfleet - I don't know the details, but hostilities have escalated. There have been deaths ... Admiral Necheyev said ... “  
  
She paused her pacing, finally, to look out the long narrow porthole into the stars of the Alpha Quadrant, her home. “The Admiral Necheyev said that during the last two years your comrades have been responsible for more than two hundred and fifty Starfleet lives.”  
  
She heard his sharp intake of breath, and turned to face him, wanting to comfort him, but knowing it was impossible.  
  
“There must be some mistake,” he breathed, looking at the deck. “We only fired on Starfleet vessels in self- defense, when there was no choice ...” He stopped, not knowing how to go on. When she didn't reply, he looked up at her.  
  
“This isn't why you've come here, is it? To tell me this? There's more.”  
  
Janeway stepped back from him, wishing that the few feet between them would also distance the impact of what she was going to tell him.  
  
“Admiral Necheyev has ordered that all the Maquis on Voyager be confined,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “If I don't do this, she'll have me relieved. If I'm relieved of command, I'll lose my power base, my ability to speak on your behalf. I would be a dismissed officer, a pariah among my peers. I wouldn't be in any position to help you or the rest.”  
  
She spoke clearly, firmly, as if explaining the obvious to a child. His anger flared, his eyes red with the violence of it.  
  
“After serving with you for two years, risking our lives, making it possible for Voyager to continue on its journey, suddenly you've decided we are to be despised and locked up?” he said, his voice so cold that Janeway nearly shivered.  
  
“Listen to me! If I had a choice, don't you think I would take it? What will you have me do? I can give you Voyager's shuttle crafts, but Melrose would have you within hours, and those of you who weren't killed would be in a penal colony for the rest of your lives. And I've heard that Maquis are not treated a favored prisoners,” she said, her voice rising. “Do you want to take over the ship? I won't go willingly; none of us will. How many of us are you willing to kill?”  
  
He took two steps toward her to stand before her, wrists crossed and extended to her. “Will you bind me before you take me to the brig, then? Is Tuvok waiting for me outside?”  
  
His words appalled her. “No! No,” she swallowed hard. “I couldn't do that to you, put you in the brig.”  
  
She swallowed again, her eyes growing bright. “Regulations provide me with some flexibility in confining ... prisoners. I ... I need your guarantee that you'll stay in your quarters. Talk to the other Maquis, make them understand -”  
  
“Make them understand that this is the beginning of what will more than likely be a life-long imprisonment?” She took his arm then, gripping it hard, harder than she meant to.  
  
“You don't know that. You better make them understand. I won't lock them in their quarters, but if they leave them, I'll put them in the brig. It's as simple as that.”  
  
If there was a part of him that understood she was doing this because she thought it would be best for the ship and the Maquis, Chakotay couldn't recognize it. His anger was too hot, his reason burned away. He wanted to say something to injure, to show contempt for Starfleet - and for her, this woman who had promised to stand by him, and then as soon as they entered the Alpha Quadrant, followed Starfleet orders as if they were a carrot and she were an ass. He looked her straight in the eye, lips curling into a vicious smile.  
  
“I understand. Kathryn.”  
  
She recoiled as if she had been struck.  
  
With that word, with her given name, he dismissed her as his captain, negated his respect for her and her position as his superior officer. So subtle, he wondered if she would discern what he was saying, what he was doing, but of course, she did. The look on her face almost made him regret his action.  
  
Almost.  
  
The doors closed behind her when she left. Chakotay stood a long time looking at it, trying to sort his feelings, to come to terms with his new status about Voyager. With a few words spoken by his Captain - no, former Captain, he no longer was to wear the uniform of Starfleet. He no longer carried the rank of Commander. As quickly as that, a few spoken words between the two of them, and he'd lost much of who he was, of the identity he'd carved out for himself aboard Voyager and in the Delta Quadrant. He turned, and looked at himself in the mirror that hung on the far bulkhead of the room. Did he look different? Probably not, since the mirror couldn't see what was in his heart. Only his heart knew he had a new identity. He was a fool.  
  
He might have sometimes wondered, in the middle of the night when he lay in bed, when sleep evaded him and his private thoughts shook him awake. He'd think, “only a fool would have thought he was in love with such a traitorous snake as Seska” or “only a fool would try to take on a whole Kazon ship by himself.” But he never really would have know for sure.  
  
He'd thought she had come to his quarters to talk of a kiss, and of the need to - what did she call it on the no- name planet, parameters? Parameters. He thought she'd wanted to talk about how returning to the Alpha Quadrant changed the parameters. Yes. The parameters would be changed. She would no longer be his commanding officer, she would no longer be bound by her duties and responsibilities and command.  
  
Instead, she stabbed the knife into his back and twisted it. At least she had the grace to allow it to be painful for her.  
  
She made the right decision. He knew it. It would be the decision he would make if the tables were turned and he were in command of Voyager and Janeway were the Maquis. She was doing what any good Starfleet captain would do. And Janeway wasn't just good; she was one of the best. Still, the pain around his heart was devastating. It was one thing to be confined to quarters by a captain you were devoted to. It was another to be confined - betrayed, really, that's what this felt like - by someone you loved. The thrust of her knife couldn't have been more excruciating.  
  


* * *

  
  
How foolish to think that a return to the Alpha Quadrant would bring her only happiness.  
  
Janeway paused as she walked down the empty corridor towards her own quarters, sagging against the bulkhead and closing her eyes, allowing herself a few second's weakness. She couldn't recall when her emotions had been so conflicted, her joy so at battle with sorrow and remorse.  
  
She had thought that he understood her well enough to know that Voyager was her flesh, her bones. She had dedicated her life to Starfleet and to what it stood for. She had sworn to uphold the bylaws of the Federation, and to follow all the lawful orders of her superior officers. She didn't always like the orders she'd received, but she followed them, and she'd never regretted it. Two years in the Delta Quadrant changed nothing.  
  
In the quiet of the ship's pre-”dawn,” she could hear the whisper of footsteps behind her, and she straightened up quickly, rubbing a quick hand over her face and if to wipe any trace of negative emotion away. She would do her duty.  
  
She would follow her orders.  
  
“Captain. Is something wrong?”  
  
Janeway turned quickly to see young Harry Kim standing behind her, his face a curious mixture of concern and ... what? His eyes were bloodshot, and his uniform slightly mussed, as if he had forgotten to have it cycled and put it on in a hurry.  
  
“No, nothing. Do you have the mid-watch? What are you doing up this time of night?” she asked, giving him a small smile.  
  
Harry shrugged. “Couldn't sleep. Thought maybe a walk might help.”  
  
Janeway fell into step with him. “I don't think you're alone. A lot of us are having trouble sleeping. At least, that's what the Doctor and Kes tell me.”  
  
“The excitement, I suppose,” said Harry, inanely.  
  
“Maybe,” said Janeway. They walked several steps in silence, before Harry stopped and turned.  
  
“I don't know what I expected,” he said. “But not this.”  
  
Janeway knew what he meant immediately.  
  
“Coming home seems to be different than what any of us expected,” she said, thinking back to her first officer.  
  
Harry nodded, his head down. When he looked up, his eyes were anguished.  
  
“I called Libby. She's ... she's married. She's going to have her first child in the spring.”  
  
Impulsively, Janeway took his arm. “Oh Harry, I'm so sorry.”  
  
Harry shrugged. “They buried us, you know? They had a memorial service for us six months after we disappeared. Who could expect her to wait for a dead man?”  
  
Janeway could find no words to comfort him.  
  
Kim sighed quickly and took a step back, Janeway's hand falling away from his arm. “Well. I guess I better try to get some sleep. I've got to be on the bridge in less than three hours.”  
  
He turned away and walked quickly down the corridor, as if getting away from Janeway would get him away from his grief.  
  


* * *

  
  
The cup shattered on the wall behind him, sending small shards bouncing in every direction. A few sharp-edged ones landed on his shoulder and he brushed them off absently.  
  
“The bitch!” hissed Torres through clenched teeth.  
  
“Two years! Two YEARS I served as her engineering officer! We'd have been nothing but so much space debris if I hadn't... “  
  
The young woman flopped down on her bed, and then stood up again to resume stomping up and down the length of her quarters.  
  
“If she thinks she can just tell us to stay in our quarters and wait for Starfleet to come and get us - the woman isn't only a bitch, she's a fool!”  
  
Torres stopped her pacing to stand in from of the door leading to the passageway. With a balled fist, she struck it repeatedly, stopping only when the pain overrode her anger.  
  
“B'Elanna, what are you going to do? Declare a mutiny and take over the ship? We're in the Alpha Quadrant now. We wouldn't get two light years without Starfleet grabbing us by the short and curlies and yanking us back.”  
  
B'Elanna, holding her injured hand, cast him a baleful look.  
  
“We can try! Two years ago, you would have tried!”  
  
Chakotay shook his head. “Are you ready to take on the people you've served with during the past two years? Are you ready to spill their blood? Harry's? Tom's? Carey's? Because that's what it might take.”  
  
Torres shook her head. “We can take a shuttle. Voyager's in no shape to chase us down, and the Melrose is still a day away. We'd have a chance ...”  
  
Chakotay shook his head. “I promised her, B'Elanna.” The engineer flopped down on her bed, looking down at her hands. When she looked up, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.  
  
“How could she do this to us? For two years, we stood side-by-side through so much - we saved her life, saved this ship ... “  
  
Chakotay put his hand on her shoulder, his own anger boiling, but knowing it served no purpose to let it out. And besides, two years ago - so very long ago - he had sworn to stand by his captain. He would do so. Whatever others thought, duty and obligation still meant something to him.  
  
“She doesn't have a choice, B'Elanna. They'll take Voyager away from her if she doesn't follow orders,” he said, quietly.  
  
Torres didn't reply, just sat on the end of the bed, unmoving. When she spoke, her voice was full of grief.  
  
“I thought she was my friend,” she choked. “I can't believe she would betray me this way.” Chakotay squeezed he shoulder, trying to provide some comfort.  
  
“B'Elanna, if she doesn't confine us, if she doesn't do what she's been ordered to do, they'll relieve her of command. We need her to be captain of Voyager, to be the brave hero who brought her ship back safe from the Delta Quadrant. She'll speak for us, I know she will. Better a glorious hero than a defiled ex-starship captain.”  
  
Torres, finally still, looking down into her clenched fists, unspeaking.  
  
“You'll stay in your quarters?” he asked gently.  
  
The tears spilled over, and she nodded silently. He left her without another word. He had more than twenty other people to tell they were now prisoners of Starfleet rather than members of Voyager's crew.  
  
It was shaping up to be a rotten day.  
  


* * *

  
  
Captain Janeway didn't bother with going to bed. With her ship still crippled and dozens of her crew on light duty due to injuries they received from the trip through the wormhole - not to mention more than 20 of her crew confined to quarters, thanks to Rear Admiral Necheyev's decree - she'd cut the bridge watch to allow a few additional crew members to work on ship repairs. Short handed, without her first officer, and with the ship still in precarious condition, she stayed on her bridge. After all, it would only be a few hours until Melrose arrived, and then she'd have more help that she knew what to do with.  
  
She did what she always did when she was so weary it weighed her shoulders into a droops and made her eyes ache. She ordered up coffee - double strong, steaming hot - in her favored mug and walked around her bridge, pausing only to check a console or talk to one of the crew.  
  
She had, finally settled into her command chair, coffee long finished, nerves jangling, when Harry, at communications, told her that Voyager was being hailed by USS Melrose.  
  
Janeway stood, straightened her uniform with a tug, and nodded to Kim.  
  
“Put them through,” she said, her heart being a little faster. Elizabeth Shelby, captain of USS Melrose, hadn't changed in the more than two years since Janeway had seen her. If anything, she looked more beautiful, more self- assured. A small part of Janeway cringed, knowing that she must look strained and tired. They were friends, but there was some rivalry - good-natured, to be sure - between the two of them. More than once, they had competed for the same job; more than once, they had dated the same man. They had even shared the Hewett P. Tyrol Award for Inspirational Leadership while they were Ensigns.  
  
“Captain Janeway, welcome back to the Alpha Quadrant!” laughed Shelby, the smile so big on her face that Janeway could see almost all her teeth. She laughed back, happy to see a friendly face, happy to have their friendship renewed.  
  
“Elizabeth! You look wonderful! I was so pleased when I heard you were going to be meeting us. We'll be able to catch up on the two years we missed!”  
  
“We'll be there in a couple of hours. My engineers are standing by to help out with repairs - and as it happens, I happened to have a huge store of dilithium crystals on board, the latest vids from Earth, and three cases of Saurian brandy. Which should I sent over first?” asked Shelby, her eyes sparkling.  
  
Janeway grinned. “Elizabeth, if you don't send over all at once, I may have a mutiny on my hands!”  
  
“All at once it shall be then, Kits. And then you have the Maquis for us? We'll take them on board as soon as we get there.”  
  
Janeway's smile faded. Her heart leaped in her chest. The thought of the Maquis - HER Maquis - leaving Voyager distressed her more than she thought it would. She crossed her arms in front of her.  
  
“I'll need a little more time to get them ready for you, Liz. Why don't we get Voyager repaired and then I'll transfer them over to Melrose?”  
  
Shelby looked puzzled, as if she couldn't understand why Janeway would want them on board any longer than she had to, but only shrugged. “That's fine with me. I'm not eager to have them on board.”  
  
It was obvious that Shelby had no more love for the Maquis than Admiral Necheyev. Janeway changed the subject. “Dinner when you get here, then, Liz? I'll let you sample some real Delta Quadrant fair. I have a Talaxian chef who does wonders with leola roots - a Deltan delicacy.” Shelby smiled hugely again.  
  
“One condition - you let me bring the wine and the dessert.”  
  
Janeway threw her head back and laughed. “A deal. But nothing too fattening; I'm seeing Mark in a couple of weeks.”  
  
At the sound of Mark's name, something shifted in Shelby's eyes, something Janeway couldn't fathom, but she let it pass. She'd get it out of her friend later.  
  
Janeway was able to leave the bridge with just enough time to shower and change before the Melrose arrived. Elizabeth Shelby beamed over with more than two dozen of her crew and crate after crate of gel packs, dilithium crystals - and Saurian brandy. Her crew swarmed the ship, almost pushing aside Janeway's worn repair teams. Shelby fell into step with Janeway as they toured the ship.  
  
“Two years in the Delta Quadrant without back up and a part-Maquis crew, and she looks pretty damn good, Kathryn. I don't know how you did it. Engineering is remarkable - looks as good as Melrose's and we've only been out two months. Carey must be a wonder,” said Shelby, honest admiration in her eyes.  
  
Janeway bristled. “My engineer is Lt. Torres. She *is* a wonder. We wouldn't be here if it weren't for her.” Shelby looked startled at her friend's vehement reply.  
  
“Oh. Well. Whoever is responsible, it looks great. We brought the 'kight you needed to reline the warp core, so you should have warp on line soon. And Lt. Tao brought over a new comm array for you. She said you'll have unlimited comm within three hours. We'll be able to get underway by twenty-four hundred.”  
  
Chakotay - the Maquis - would be off her ship before the new day arrived. The thought burst into Janeway's thoughts violently. Her chest hurt.  
  
“Dinner?” asked Janeway, trying to cover up her feelings. “I asked Neelix to make you something special - leola root au gratin. I know you'll love it. We all do.”  
  
Shelby smiled. “I know I will. I sent the wine on to your galley to chill. I hope you like this dessert - champagne zabaglione. I made it. It's my mother's recipe.” Neelix, indeed, out did himself.  
  
He partitioned off a corner of the dining room for the two women, and set the table with linen and crystal. There were no less than five course, three of them containing leola root. Between the lack of sleep, the food and the wine, Janeway was close to collapse by the time the meal was over.  
  
“Liz, I hate to be a party pooper, but I've got to call it a night. I'm beat. And I told Mark I'd call him tonight.”  
  
Again, Shelby's eyes shifted and she turned away from Janeway's gaze.  
  
“Oh. Sure. Let's meet up for breakfast, then. And give Mark my best when you talk to him.”  
  
It was an intuitive flash with nothing to substantiate it, but suddenly Janeway knew there was something between Mark and her friend. She put down her coffee cup.  
  
“I didn't know you knew Mark that well,” said Janeway, smiling slightly. Shelby laughed lightly. To Janeway's newly-attuned ears, there was a slight brittleness to it. “I knew him by reputation, and then ran into him at your memorial service - ,” she stopped to laugh again. “If they didn't tell you, it was very nice. Lots of flowers. Your mother is a wonderful speaker, by the way.”  
  
She was changing the subject. Janeway let her.  
  
“Yes, mother could talk the leaves off a tree.” She stood. “Let me walk you to the transporter pad. Seven tomorrow, then?”  
  
Shelby stood. “Seven. At my 'place' this time. I've got the replicators programmed for incredible French toast with strawberries ... “  
  
Jane rushed to her quarters, cursing Shelby dawdling. She had wanted to spend some time getting ready to talk to Mark. Now, she barely had time to change and let her hair down.  
  
He'd been in her thoughts all day, stealing her concentration. When she'd finally talked to him, it had been joyous, a true acknowledgment that she was finally home.  
  
But all day she'd thought about what she felt now was ... different ... than what she'd felt before. Perhaps their relationship just needed a rekindling, a reawakening. From the very first, the sexual attraction between them had been powerful, irresistible. Perhaps that's all that was needed to put them back on the path they walked together before.  
  
She slipped out of her uniform and dumped it into the processor, and then loosened her hair and left it hanging, lose and free around her shoulders and down her back. Clean and soft against her skin, it felt sensuous, almost sexual, and she shivered slightly.  
  
The material of the gown was cool against her skin, giving her goosebumps and making her nipples strain against the thin material. The smallest of smiles grazed her lips. He was waiting for her when she called. His eyes widened in surprise when she saw her, but then narrowed with pleasure, the corners of his wide mouth turning up. She gave him a quirky smile.  
  
“I was wondering,” she said softly, “if you remembered the last time I wore this ... “  
  
He leaned forward, his smile matching hers.  
  
“The last time? Hmmm ... I'm not sure. But I do remember that you didn't wear it very long ...”  
  
She leaned forward, giving him a glimpse of smooth firm breasts.  
  
“I thought perhaps you might want a memory refresher,” she said, a bit huskily. His smile broadened. “It has been a long time ... perhaps a refresher would be a good idea.”  
  
She leaned forward a little more, allowing the strap to slip off her shoulder. Closing her eyes, she tried not to think of Necheyev and Shelby, Tuvok and her crew. Or Chakotay. Most of all, her first officer. For a little while, she would indulge herself, let herself think about being with Mark again, and their life together. She's let herself think about the real probability that she would get a break from the crushing weight of command, that once they were back she would take leave and visit her mother and her friends. She'd go away with Mark to the mountains and for an entire month the most difficult decision she would make was what to have for breakfast. She'd be able to escape the gut-wrenching life and death decisions she made almost daily in the Delta Quadrant.  
  
The other strap slipped off her shoulder and she lost herself in Mark's soft, thick words. She willed herself to relax.  
  
Unexpectedly, Mark's voice broke off with a slight cry, and he began to chuckle.  
  
“Damn dog. You do seem to have a talent for interruptions at the strangest times ... “  
  
Janeway opened her eyes, and saw Mark, shirt open, scratching the ears of a cocker spaniel that sat in his lap. Janeway gave him a quizzical look.  
  
“Mark! A dog? I didn't think you'd ever turn into a dog person.”  
  
Mark chuckled again, and turned the spaniel to face Janeway straight on. “Kathryn! You mean to tell me you don't recognize your own Molly Malone?”  
  
Once, when Janeway was teen, her mother and father had taken her to Finland to visit friends. It had been mid- winter, but they had combated the bitter cold with long saunas.  
  
It wasn't until she was drowsy and pink from the heat that they told her she was to run down the path from the small sauna house to the frozen lake below and jump into the hole in the ice that had been cut just for this purpose. She had done it, of course, as much not to disappoint her hosts as for the experience. The shock of the icy water had driven the breath from her and she gulped for air - unfortunately, while she was still under the water. Her father had reached down under the water and pulled her up, sputtering and coughing. They had hauled her out of the water and laughingly urged her up the path to the house, but it had been a long time before she got over the shock. She felt as if it was happening to her again. She was frozen, the breath driven from her, unable to move. She wished she had someone there to pull her out.  
  
“Kathryn! What's wrong! Are you ill? Kath?”  
  
Mark was on his feet, hands braced on the desk where his viewscreen sat, face full of concern.  
  
She hurriedly pulled the straps of her gown up and jumped to her feet. Without a word, she touched the key to terminate the connection, Mark's stricken face winking out. She covered her face with her hands. How could she have been such a fool? Why hadn't she suspected? It was so clear now. Yes, they had come back to the Alpha Quadrant. But they were not home.  
  
Something had happened to Voyager when they had traveled through the wormhole. They had traveled distance, but they had also traveled from their own universe to another - a universe very much like their own, but not completely.  
  
In this universe, Admiral Necheyev had red hair and hated the Maquis with an unparalleled passion. Tuvok's family was decimated. Harry Kim's fiance married another. Paris' father loved and needed him. Chakotay was an outlaw. And her beloved Irish setter, Molly Malone, was a cocker spaniel.  
  
The mandates of the Prime Directive echoed through her mind. This universe now knew things about the Delta Quadrant that they shouldn't have learned until their own Voyager came home. Would it cause harm?  
  
She closed her eyes and bowed her head. What a question to ask herself. Of course it would cause harm. It already had. So anxious was she to come home that she had harmed nearly two dozen of her crew - two dozen of her crew who had served her with devotion, with loyalty. And she had agreed to turn them over to the Federation, a Federation that hated the Maquis and, at best, would lock them up for a long, long time.  
  
“Computer, what time is it?” she asked.  
  
“It is twenty-three zero nine,” said the disembodied computer voice. Less than an hour. That was all the time she had before she had agreed to turn over the Maquis to Shelby. After that, it would be too late. Shelby would never return them to her, and Voyager, in the condition it was in now, was too battered to take on Melrose.  
  
They had to leave, now. She picked up her comm badge from her dresser, tapping it as she pulled off her gown and began dressing in her uniform.  
  
“Janeway to Carey. Have we got warp on line yet?” There was a pause, and then Carey's sleep-filled voice came on.  
  
“Ma'am? The warp drive? Uh, we just got it on line before I went to bed. It'll take a few hours for the coolant to cycle before we're ready to fire her up but - “  
  
“Good. I want you to get down to engineering and prepare us for warp asap.”  
  
There was no reply.  
  
“Mr. Carey, did you hear me?” she said sharply.  
  
This time, the reply came back quickly.  
  
“Yes ma'am! Prepare for warp.”  
  
Janeway pulled her uniform on before she made her next call. She tapped the comm badge again.  
  
“Janeway to Paris.”  
  
Again, there was a pause as she awaken another of her crew. Except while his reply was sleepy, it was in good humor, and Janeway could almost hear the smile in his voice.  
  
“Paris here, Captain. What can I do for you?”  
  
Janeway fastened her uniform, feeling the pips at her neck to make sure they were straight and even.  
  
“Mr. Paris, I want you on the bridge in five minutes. I want you to plot a course back to the wormhole at best speed.”  
  
Like Carey, there was a pause, and a then a puzzled reply.  
  
“Ma'am? We're going back to the wormhole?”  
  
Janeway didn't have time to explain. And she also didn't want it to get around her ship yet that they were heading back to the wormhole. Some of Shelby's crew might still be on board, helping with repairs.  
  
“Just do it, Paris, and keep quiet about it. I'll explain later.”  
  
She tapped off her comm badge, not waiting for Paris' response.  
  
She paused a moment, and then tapped her comm badge again.  
  
“Janeway to Tuvok.”  
  
Unlike the two lieutenants, Tuvok responded immediately. There could be, of course, no sleep for him.  
  
“Tuvok here.”  
  
“Tuvok, I need your help. If I could trust anyone else, I wouldn't disturb you.”  
  
“How can I be of assistance, Captain?”  
  
Inside, Janeway sighed with relief. “Tuvok, I need to find out if any of Melrose's crew is on board, and then get them off as quickly as possible, as discreetly as possible, without eliciting concern aboard the Melrose.”  
  
Unlike Carey and Paris, Tuvok didn't ask questions. He merely said, “Aye, Captain,” and signed off.  
  
Janeway pulled on her boots and stood. That had been the easy part.  
  
On the walk down the corridor, she rehearsed in her mind what she would say to him, but each seemed wrong, each seemed foolish. Well, she *had* been foolish. There was no getting around it.  
  
He came to his door immediately, his face unsurprised, almost as if he were expecting her. He didn't invite her in, or even greet her, just stood there, with that unfathomable look in her eyes that made her avert her gaze. She forced herself to look into his face, into those eyes that screamed the unthinkable at her.  
  
“I've made a mistake,” she said. “I need your help.”  
  
He moved aside so she could enter. In two quick strides, she was in, standing in the center of the room, armed crossed, chin up.  
  
“This isn't our universe,” she said.  
  
Understanding on his part was immediate.  
  
“Gods!” He turned from her, his back to her.  
  
It made it easier for her.  
  
“Will you - will the Maquis - help me? We don't have much time. We have to leave - now. I can't even think about the violations to the Prime Directive . “ she swallowed, pausing, before going on. “And . we have less than an hour before I agreed to turn you - and the other Maquis over to the Melrose.”  
  
The silence in the room lengthened.  
  
“How did you find out?” he asked, finally.  
  
She swallowed. “The Molly Malone in this universe is a cocker spaniel.”  
  
He barked a short laugh. “Who knows this isn't our universe?” he asked.  
  
“You, now. Carey, Paris, Tuvok might begin to suspect, or will soon.”  
  
“Are warp engines on line?” he asked.  
  
Janeway nodded. “Carey's there now, trying to get the coolant cycling. We need B'Elanna. Carey's good. B'Elanna's better.”  
  
Chakotay nodded. “The Melrose may give chase.”  
  
Janeway nodded. “I'm sure they will. They want my Maquis. They may think you've taken over the ship and are trying to escape through the wormhole.”  
  
Chakotay nodded again. “I'll talk to B'Elanna.”  
  
“Good. I'll see you on the bridge as soon as you can get there. In uniform.”  
  
She left hurriedly, wanting to escape those accusing, dark eyes.  
  
Tuvok was already on the bridge, as was Paris, who cast her a mystified look as she walked briskly to her command chair.  
  
“All of Melrose's crew have left the ship, Captain. They will return tomorrow morning,” he said.  
  
That's what they think, thought Janeway. She turned sharply to Paris.  
  
“Mr. Paris, how long will it take us to get back to the wormhole at our top warp?”  
  
Paris turned to her. “Ma'am? Back to the wormhole? Why?”  
  
Janeway stepped down the ramp to stand behind her pilot's chair. “I'll explain later, Mr. Paris. Right now, I need your help without your questions. How long?”  
  
Paris' finger's danced on his console. “Thirty minutes, if we can get up to warp. I know Carey's got warp on line, but the coolant still hasn't cycled, so I guess warp one is - “  
  
“Lt. Torres is on her way to engineering. Let's hope she can expedite warp capability,” interrupted Janeway.  
  
Paris looked at her in surprise at this news, but didn't say anything.  
  
Janeway turned to Tuvok. “Tuvok, are our phasers on line?” She swallowed, but continued. “What's the status of our photon torpedoes?”  
  
If Tuvok was surprised by her questions, he didn't show it. “Phasers are on line and in optimum condition, Captain. I shall ready torpedoes.”  
  
Janeway gave him a quick nod, and sat in her command chair just as Chakotay came on the bridge. He sat next to her.  
  
“Lieutenant Torres is on her way to engineering. I've got some of the others working on the auxiliary computers and systems.”  
  
Janeway gave another brief, officious nod.  
  
Kim, sitting silently at operation, watching the strange play that was taking place in front of him, finally spoke.  
  
“Captain, Lt. Torres reports that she is ready to go to warp one at your leisure.”  
  
Janeway nodded briefly again. “Mr. Paris, warp one. Take us back through the wormhole.”  
  
Paris turned sharply to his captain. “Back *through* the wormhole, Captain? I-I don't think I understand - “  
  
Janeway wanted to bark at him, tell him that he didn't get paid to think or understand, but the anguished look on his face stopped her. Tom Paris, who just hours before, had found a loving father, was going to lose him again.  
  
“Mr. Paris,” she said. “This isn't our universe. Apparently, when we went through the wormhole, we jumped universes.”  
  
The only sound on the bridge was the whispering sounds of the impulse engines and the computers' chirps and chimes. “Gods,” Harry whispered, finally. “This isn't home.”  
  
“Indeed,” said Janeway. “Mr. Paris, through the wormhole, please.”  
  
Paris turned to face the viewscreen. “Through the wormhole at warp one. Aye, ma'am.”  
  
Almost as if it were a cue, the moment they jumped to faster-than-light speed, Kim turned to Janeway.  
  
“Captain, Melrose is hailing us. They are asking where we're going.”  
  
Janeway turned to Chakotay. “Testing our engines?” she asked, trying out the lie.  
  
He gave her a wry grin. “As good as any other reason,” he said.  
  
Janeway turned to Kim. “Please pass on to Melrose that we are testing our engines.”  
  
There was a few moments silence, and then Kim spoke again. “Captain, Melrose is pacing us.”  
  
Silently, Janeway cursed. She didn't think her lie would work, but she had to try.  
  
“Captain Shelby is hailing you, Captain,” Kim said. Janeway stood, looking quickly over her shoulder at her first officer. “My ready room, I think, Commander. It won't do for her to see you on the bridge.”  
  
Chakotay left hurriedly, his face inscrutable to all but Janeway. And then Elizabeth Shelby, not a hair out of place, although she must have been roused from her bed, stood before Janeway on the viewscreen.  
  
“Kathryn! What's this? Midnight maneuvers?” said Shelby's, her voice jovial, almost teasing. Only Janeway recognized the undertone of brass.  
  
“Sorry to get you out of your bed, Elizabeth. I just wanted to try out the warp engines.” She smiled, trying to make it slightly apologetic. “I couldn't sleep.”  
  
There was a changed in Shelby's face. It shifted from something mostly benevolent to suspicious.  
  
“Kathryn, there's nothing wrong, is there? The Maquis ...”  
  
Janeway laughed out loud. “What, they broke out of my brig and took over the ship and are now trying to escape? I don't think so.” Janeway shook her head. “No, I was just a little ... restless. Thought I'd take Voyager out for a little test drive. Why don't you go back to bed? We'll be back in the morning.”  
  
It was so false, Janeway cringed inside. But it was all she could think of right now. And it gave her time. That's what she was doing - playing for time, enough time for her to slip back through the wormhole and back to their own universe.  
  
Shelby's eyes narrowed. “Kathryn, I want you to stop. I'm sending my people over right now -”  
  
Inside, Janeway sighed. Well, this card had been played. It was time for the next in this game. She turned quickly to Kim.  
  
“Cut communication with Melrose. Tuvok, ready shields. Ensign Kim, open ship-wide communication.”  
  
“Communication open, Captain.”  
  
Janeway paused, forming her statement. As she began, Chakotay came onto the bridge from his hiding place in the ready room.  
  
“This is the Captain. In approximately 25 minutes, we will be going through the wormhole.” She paused, letting her statement sink in. “I regret to inform you that while the wormhole took us back to the Alpha Quadrant, it has also, unfortunately, taken us into the wrong universe; an alternate universe; very much like our own, but not ours.” Paris turned to her quickly, a look very much like grief on his face. She her eyes locked with his, the two of them sharing a brief moment of sorrow. She cleared her throat and continued.  
  
“We have less than 25 minutes to prepare for the transit. Get to it. Janeway out.”  
  
It is never really silent on the bridge. The small sounds of the equipment, notifying those who monitored each station of the status of the various departments on the ship, filled it with gentle background noise that usually was so familiar it was a comfort. Janeway could hear every chirp and beep, the human sounds on the bridge were so still. She was grateful when Tuvok broke the silence.  
  
“Melrose is still pacing us, Captain.”  
  
“They are hailing us non-stop, Captain,” said Kim. Janeway sat on the edge of her command chair.  
  
“Let me know if they change any of their tactics. Tuvok, if they become more aggressive, shields up.”  
  
Janeway knew that in the bowels of her ship, in the corridors, the sickbay, engineering, stellar cartography, air-ponics, the galley, every crew member was frantically engaged in preparing her ship to traverse the wormhole, but on the bridge, it was quiet, almost peaceful; the eye of the storm. She slowly took a breath, letting it out. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Shelby would buy her ploy and not try to stop -

* * *

  
No one on Voyager was killed. It was the only good thing that could be said about their mad trip through the wormhole. Did Melrose try to follow them through the wormhole? They never knew for sure. Kim had broadcast a warning to Shelby, telling her of Voyager's intentions to ram two photon torpedoes down the wormhole's mouth to collapse it, but Melrose had never responded to the warning. And after three more full-powered phaser strikes from Melrose, Voyager's sensors were beyond detecting anything short of a brick wall two feet off its bow.  
  
Conspiring together, Kim, Paris, Tuvok, and Chakotay agreed that the answer would be, to anyone who asked, that Melrose stopped short of the wormhole, never following them in. The four of them would be haunted all their lives with the thought they might have destroyed a Starfleet ship, albeit one from an alternate universe. There was no purpose -- or in the words of Tuvok, no *logic* -- in letting others suffer as well. It took them 43 hours to get life support back on line; two more days to seal all the hull breeches and cracks that riddled Voyager. Finally, on the sixth day, B'Elanna got impulse power working. It was pure luck that no Vidiian or Kazon ship happened by to take advantage of their weakened condition.  
  
During their brief breaks, over Neelix's meals of leola root stews and steaming cups of what he called coffee, the crew discussed and dissected their trip to the alternate Alpha Quadrant universe. They debated whether what had happened in the alternative quadrant might be transpiring in their own. Some prayed it for it; others prayed not. But no one suggested they should have stayed.  
  
During that hectic week, when it was all Voyager could do to maintain a life-sustaining environs, Voyager's captain and first officer never spoke except to issue orders and provide reports. At first, it was because it was all Janeway could do sit up in her chair. Kes had counted 17 broken bones, not to mention so many ruptured and torn organs that they'd had to hook her up to a computer bypass for more than a day to allow them to heal.  
  
And then later, discussion became more difficult to face, both of them afraid they would not be able to accept what the other had to say.

* * *

  
  
She found herself at his door again, in the middle of the night. Really, it was morning, past midnight and before the ship's waking, when Voyager is at it quietest and the beat of the human heart is at its most intense. When he answered the door, he had the look of a man stupid with sleep, the sleep brought on by the physical and emotional exhaustion of more than a week of frantic activity to save a ship and its crew shattered by two too many trips down Alice's rabbit hole.  
  
He stood back to let her in, her face was so white, the circles under her eyes so dark she looked like some kind of caricature of the Kathryn Janway he knew so well. Or thought he knew, before.  
  
She wandered about his quarters, not speaking, not touching anything. He tried to read her heart, but it was a mystery to him. Finally, she stopped in the middle of the room, arms at her side, limp; eyes dark. A supplicant.  
  
“I've wronged you; the Maquis,” she said.  
  
He gave her a brief nod.  
  
She swallowed, but remained unspeaking. There was so much to read in her face, so many conflicting emotions that he couldn't understand. Remorse, certainly. Shame? Maybe. But something more.  
  
Her lips moved, but no words came out. She tried again.  
  
“Can you forgive me?”  
  
She said it a flat out question. Not, “Will you forgive me,” or “I'm sorry, please forgive me.”  
  
Was it so hard for her to ask for forgiveness that she could hardly speak the words? The anger Chakotay thought was gone rose in his heart. He struggled to calm it.  
  
“Can I forgive you?” He repeated it, because he wanted her to know what it sounded like, to hurt her a little.  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
It wasn't what she wanted to hear, and he saw something like fear flash in her eyes. The thought of a lifetime with a first officer who held a grudge ... yes, he thought, I would be fearful, too. He relented. “Probably . . . yes.”  
  
So much that was in her face, her eyes, changed then. They grew bright with unshed tears. “Not today. Not next week,” he said.  
  
If he were a more generous man, perhaps he would have forgiven her then -- or at least, *told* her he forgave her. Or perhaps if he hadn't been betrayed by love before -- first by the Federation, which he loved and served passionately until it turned its back on his people, and then by Seska -- he might have been more ready to absolve her. But we carry our pasts with us always, and sometimes their burden is too heavy to bear without effect. The silence in the room lengthened, and he did not know why she stayed on. He turned to her.  
  
The unshed tears were still there, yes. But also something he had never seen before. It was ...  
  
He almost laughed, but not with joy. If he had laughed out loud, it would have been filled with bitterness, with irony.  
  
Kathryn Janeway loved him. She read it in her face.  
  
For two years, almost all his thoughts were of her. He served at her side. He asked her counsel, and she asked it of him. He held her when she wept, taught her the way of his ancestors so that she would know her heart with greater clarity. They shared their lives with a thoroughness neither had ever experienced before.  
  
From almost the first moment he'd come on board this ship, he wanted to trace the margin of that stern mouth with fingertips to soften them, to brush the fine hairs from the nape of her neck with his lips. He wanted to make love to her, tenderly, passionately, gently, frantically. How bitter. How ironic.  
  
Now, it was all he could do not to throw her out. How quick she had been to betray him and the other Maquis once they were back in Federation space. How quickly she had run to Mark. How quickly she had fallen into the trap of answering, “yes ma'am, yes ma'am, by your leave, ma'am,” when Necheyev barked her orders.  
  
He knew he was being unfair. He'd served in Starfleet, and he knew how to follow orders. Indeed, he'd resigned his commission before he took one action as a Maquis rather than violate the standing orders of Starfleet.  
  
Yes, her understood orders. He would follow her orders. He would smile at her witty comments. He would be the perfect first officer; efficient; effective. The crew would notice no difference between now and ... before.  
  
Only he and Captain Kathryn Janeway would know the truth.  
  
He told her he had an early meeting. She stared at him a long time, with those bright eyes, and then left without a word. He would not play her fool again.  
  


* * *

  
  
She stood alone at the long porthole in her quarters, looking out among the stars of the Delta Quadrant, as if out there, somewhere in the void of space, there was an answer. In one of her many talks with Chakotay after she returned from being Cullah's captive, her first officer asked her what was most precious in all the universes to her. The answer was easy. Voyager, of course. Voyager was her flesh, her heart and soul. She would do anything for her ship. She had watched the ship being built. She had been its midwife, delivering it to Starfleet. Every bit of it -- circuits, conduits, warp core -- was a part of her. She loved the ship.  
  
Something in Chakotay's dark eyes was amused when she'd said it. Yes, there was understanding and empathy, but also something else, like he knew something about what was precious to her, but couldn't tell her. It was as if he had a secret about her that he couldn't share, even with her. As she stood there, in her darkened quarters, she began to understand what he knew.  
  
Years ago, she had pledged herself to Starfleet and the Federation. She loved the ships that made up the Fleet. There was a purity in the Federation and Starfleet that was noble; good. Space exploration and the accumulation of knowledge. Protection of the Federation worlds. No one could find fault with that. She had dedicated her life to those ships and the men and women who manned them. It was an exciting, challenging life and she served with joy and fulfillment. Until Mark had come into her life.  
  
She loved Mark. From the first day of their meeting, both knew it was their destiny that they would be together. They were so much alike, knew each other so well from the beginning, that they could spend an entire evening together without speaking, yet know exactly what the other was thinking. He always bought the perfect present for her birthday, Christmas, anniversary of their meeting. Her mother adored him. She looked down at the framed photograph she held in her hand. Mark and Molly looked back at her. She sighed.  
  
Until she'd met Mark, Starfleet and her ambitions had been enough to satisfy her. But meeting Mark had changed everything. She realized her life was empty without him. She loved him with a thoroughness that made her complete.  
  
So why was her love for him -- the loved they shared -- not enough now? Did the time, the distance between them fade her feelings? Was it the uncertainty of not knowing if they would ever be together?  
  
She looked out into the stars again, looking for the answer, and finding it, at least in part. She would always love Mark. She knew that the minute she'd looked into his face again, albeit only on a viewscreen. But, just like so many years ago, when she found her love for Starfleet and the Federation didn't fulfill her anymore, her love for Mark didn't complete her anymore. She loved him, yes, but it was a love on paper wings.  
  
How was it possible that she had fallen in love with her first officer? Two people could never be so different. Indeed, at first, she despised him. He'd been the cause of enormous anxiety over Tuvok. He and his ship had lead Voyager to the Badlands, and, ultimately, to the Delta Quadrant.  
  
And when they had decided to join crews, he'd disagreed with one decision she made after another.  
  
But, over time, they'd reached agreement that had finally grown to respect, then to admiration, and finally, to friendship.  
  
And then, after Cullah, she had spilled out her heart to him. He knew more about her than anyone -- Tuvok, her mother, Mark. It had been a wrenching experience from which she still suffered. And it was Chakotay who had brought her back from the abyss.  
  
Was this when the seeds of her love for him begin to take root? She had no answer. It was nothing like her love for Mark, which had sprung full blown from their first meeting. With Chakotay, it had been so gradual that she hadn't even realized it was there. It was a love that grew stronger with every day; with every moment. Unlike with Mark, it wasn't that they were so much alike; it was almost the opposite. They were parts of a puzzle, a yin and yang, two pieces that came together to make a whole.  
  
Janeway sighed, and put the picture of Mark and Molly down. What did she expect? That Chakotay might have grow to love him as she did him? To care about a woman who represented all that he turned away from, who betrayed him? Not likely ... still, there had been moments, when they were down on that no-name planet, and when she had kissed him, even though he didn't seem to return it, when she'd thought, maybe ... maybe, in this new place, this place where pasts might as well never have existed, they might be able to find each other.  
  
She sighed again. She had an early meeting, too, and needed to rest. She dressed for bed and called for lights out, but lay with eyes open, thinking.  
  
Chakotay. He would forgive her, eventually, as all the Maquis would. She had to believe that. It would be difficult, at first, to find the road they had traveled before, the road they had traveled together. As for the path the two of them would take? Well ...  
  
A small smile played on her lips. They'd only been together for two years. She had nearly sixty-eight years to bring him around. She was a patient woman.


End file.
